


Lock Me In and Hold This Moment (Never Get Enough)

by NoStrings_OnMe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4286979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoStrings_OnMe/pseuds/NoStrings_OnMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky finds himself on death row for a murder he didn't commit. He's desperately working his way through the appellate courts, minding his own business, when SHIELD Maximum Security Prison hires a new correctional officer, Steve Rogers.<br/>What could possibly go wrong?</p><p>Or, the prison au that born_to_explode begged me to write.</p><p>(title from "Lock Me Up" by The Cab)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lock Me In and Hold This Moment (Never Get Enough)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published work, so I would appreciate any and all comments! Disclaimer, I do not own any of the characters or names, nor do I have any experience with prison. Sorry for any inaccuracies!

Steve Rogers ran his hand through his hair again, and straightened his tie for the tenth time. He looked in the mirror, and sighed. Right. Just breathe.

It was his first day working as a corrections officer at SHIELD Maximum Security Prison, just outside of Washington, D.C. To say he was terrified would be…well, an understatement.

Steve shook his head as he exited the bathroom and set about making himself a travel mug of coffee. He still couldn’t quite understand just how he had gotten this job. Originally, he had sent in his application for the Special Forces chapter of the U.S Army. A dozen emails and three phone calls later, he found himself in an interview with Prison Director Nick Fury. 

“What makes you think you’re qualified for this job, Rogers?” he had asked Steve, staring him down menacingly with his one good eye.

“W-well, sir,” Steve had gotten out. “I didn’t actually apply for this job, and I’m not exactly sure-”

Fury’s stare had hardened considerably. “So you’re not qualified for this job, is that what you’re telling me?”

And that was when Steve had backtracked. “N-no, of course not. Sir.” He bit his tongue, against what he wanted to say next, and though this through carefully. He needed this job, badly. Bills were already piling up, and working nights at his best friend Natasha’s bar Red Room was just not cutting it anymore.

So Steve had squared his shoulders and manned up. He had told Nick Fury exactly why he wanted to be a corrections officer, and what skill he had that would richen the environment over at SHIELD.

The whole interview lasted only about fifteen minutes, but after Steve had gotten through his whole speech (in one long, winded breath), Director Fury had almost smiled.  
“That’s good enough for me,” he had said, standing up behind his desk. Steve shot out of his chair, too – eager to be out of range from the Director’s creepy stare – and shook his hand firmly.

As he was about to exit the office, Fury had called to him. “Someone from here will phone you, later this week, to set up your schedule and payment plan,” he said, not looking up from the stack of papers on his desk. Steve had stood there in the doorway like an idiot, jaw hanging open.

“So I um, I got the job?” he asked meekly. Fury finally looked up at him, and the stare was so intense Steve had wished he hadn’t.

“Yes, son, you got the job,” Fury intoned monotonously. Steve had nodded once, then twice, before waving goodbye awkwardly and stumbling out into the reception area. He passed his information on to the Director’s secretary, Maria Hill, and almost ran out the front door of SHIELD headquarters. 

That was two weeks ago, and even given all that time to prepare, Steve was still about to be late on his first day. He cursed sharply when the coffee from the mug spilt as he tried to jam a lid on it, and again when he scalded his tongue trying to lick it off his hand. He locked the door to his apartment and made it out to his car, with barely two minutes to spare.

Steve pulled out of the parking garage smoothly. While waiting at a red light, his phone beeped shrilly, a jangly electronic tune that he most certainly would never have set himself. He unlocked the screen, and saw a text from Natasha.

To: Steve  
From: Nat R :)  
6:43 AM   
Good luck @ the prison! Don’t get shanked plz 

He rolled his eyes, but tapped out a quick response before the light changed.

To: Nat R :)  
From: Steve  
Thanks for the vote of confidence, Natalia

He clicked the phone off, and settled in for the rest of the forty-five minute drive to his new job.

++++++++++

“Prisoner 325725, please step forward.” The guard indicated Bucky with his finger, and Bucky sighed. He exited his cell and stood with his hands braced against the wall, preparing for the daily inspection and pat-down.

He heard the guards rummaging through his stuff, and stifled the urge to go in there and stop them. He knew he was a prisoner, but was this level of invasion of privacy really necessary? He bit his tongue, hard, when the one guard came out to frisk him. Finally, it was over, and he gave the two officers a salute before retreating to his bunk and lying on his stomach. 

He’d been a model prisoner, ever since he had been transferred to SHIELD facilities three months ago. Bucky knew this place was better than the state prison, but he knew even stronger that he shouldn’t even be in jail in the first place.

Technically, James Buchannan Barnes was charged, tried, and convicted of two counts first-degree murder last December. Whenever Bucky has to answer this question, he makes sure to add in the technically. 

This is because he’s not guilty. 

Yeah, yeah, everyone says that. Sure. But Bucky always looks the questioner in the eye, begging them to understand.

He didn’t kill those people. 

At that point, most people just assume that he’s crazy, and even the most hardened journalists make their excuses and leave. Bucky’s left to do the walk-of-shame back to his cell, where he can wallow in his failures until the next one comes around. 

When he’s not blowing interviews with high-profile tabloid magazines, he’s in the library, studying. Reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, wisps of hair falling out of his ponytail, Bucky spends hours poring over law and psychology books alike. The index finger of his metal arm runs steadily along lines of text, guiding him in absorbing every word.

He meets with his lawyer at least once a week. He presents his pages of notes from the week’s library excursions to Pepper Potts, and she dutifully reads every single one. She knows the trial was a farce, too, and is dedicated to helping Bucky get through the court of appeals.

Before it’s too late.

Because after Bucky was convicted of the murders, he was given the death penalty.

The law immediately appealed his case, so he had at least the two years that it would take the paperwork to go through the system. After that, though…

So with that for motivation, he and Pepper spend their weekly visits analyzing each step of the trial, looking for any scrap of evidence to prove Bucky’s innocence. Right now, they’re banking on the testimony of the court psychiatrist, Dr. Brock Rumlow. 

Dr. Rumlow had testified that Bucky was indeed fully capable of harboring willfullness, deliberation, and premeditation. Basically, he had killed those people out of his own free will. The thing was, though, that a little digging brought up nada on Rumlow’s past. Bucky strongly suspected that the prosecutors paid him off, and that he had lied on the stand.

It was up to Pepper, then, to prove to the appellate court that Dr. Rumlow’s evaluation was incorrect. Bucky maintained that he did not remember anything from that night, so Pepper decided the best course of action was to obtain an NGI: not guilty by reason of insanity.

She had explained to Bucky, very gently, that he was never going to get his life back. The evidence found at the scene had been too damning to suggest that anyone else had done it. She assured him that she believed he did not intend to kill anyone, and that he was in no way responsible for his actions.

But he had done it, she had told him sadly. He may not remember, but there was no way it happened any differently than that. She promised him that she would do everything she could to get him into a comfortable mental facility, where he could live out his days while he was inevitably turned down for parole every year.

Bucky had cried often in those first few weeks after the trial, coming to terms with the fact that it was over for him. He was infuriated that he couldn’t remember what happened, and questioned if maybe everyone else was right- maybe he did kill those people.

But then he looked down at his arm. The prosthetic was solid metal, extending from his fingertips over his shoulder. It was intricate, it was dangerous, it was beautiful. 

His original arm was lost as the result of an accident involving an IED, over in Afghanistan three years ago. He had been honorably discharged shortly after, left on his own with little to do.

But that arm meant something. It was a feat of engineering, designed by leading technical engineer Reed Richards himself. It made Bucky feel a bit more like himself, a bit more capable in this civilian world.

He had been given a second chance; he recognized that. And the arm was a constant reminder of that. 

So he had bucked up and taken it. He endured hours of psychiatric exams, read dozens of books, and kept his head down in prison. He didn’t care what Pepper said- he was getting out of here a free man.

Bucky folded his arms underneath his chin, and rested his head on top of his pillow. He didn’t have a cellmate (perks of being pegged as a dangerous, unstable murderer?), so it was mercifully quiet in the small room. He could hear the sounds of other inmates in the commons, and the occasional yell from those not allowed into general population.

The movies never show it, but prison is really damn boring. When he’s not allowed to go to the library, Bucky mostly just stays in his cell. He’s not very close with any other inmates (by choice? Maybe…), so he speaks very little these days. Sometimes he’ll sit in the yard, chain-smoking cigarettes. Other times, he’ll fiddle with whatever project is set up in the workshop. But he mostly sits in his cell, writing in his faded black journal. 

Because one day, he’s gonna get out of here. And he’s gonna write a book.

Today, Bucky picks up that book, and flips to a clean page. He records his feelings from the search-and-seizure this morning, and makes note of his strong craving for a cigarette. When he’s done, he grabs the pack from under his mattress and heads out to the yard.

He’s standing in the yard, leaning against the fence and adding to the pile of cigarette butts at his feet. His only view is staff parking lot, which is quite busy at this time in the morning, as it’s shift change. He watches the familiar sight of leaving guards exchange waves and smiles, the new shift coming in clutching mugs of coffee with grim looks on their faces. He smirks to himself and is about to turn around and go inside, when he sees him.

++++++++++

Steve click the lock button on his keys an extra time (just to be safe), and headed towards the main building. He was coming in for the midday shift, so he had to pick his way through the throngs of officers coming and going. Throngs of officers who knew exactly what they were doing, and had no time to stop and take care of the new guy.

C’mon, you’re twenty-six, not six, Steve reminded himself. This ain’t the first day of kindergarten.

But it was a little hard not to be intimidated by his new coworkers. Some of these guys looked tough, like they could almost be mistaken for prisoners themselves. But Steve was tough, too. He straightened his shoulders back a little, and stood taller in the line for the door. All officers entering the building had to go through the metal detector as well as searched. The shift change made the doorway crowded, so Steve stood against the outside wall and took in his surroundings. 

SHIELD Maximum Security Prison was located in the middle of Absolutely, Nowhere. D.C. was a long drive from his home, made up solely of cornfields. The shiny metals fences around the red brick building seemed to stretch for miles, the barbed wire glinting in the sunlight. Inmates milled about in the yard. Some played basketball, some dealt cards, and others just stared out the fence. 

They look sad, Steve thought fleetingly. It was sad, in some way. Hundreds of grown men, wearing jumpsuits, enclosed in one space. It would be almost unfortunate, he mused, had they all not deserved to be there.

As his eye wandered across the landscape, Steve zeroed in on one prisoner in particular. He was tall, with dark hair tied up in a bun and the beginnings of a beard darkening his chin. He was leaning against the fence, smoking a cigarette. Oddly enough, whenever he lifted his hand to his mouth, his fingers glinted in the sunlight.

The man seemed to have sensed Steve’s gaze, as he turned to meet his eyes. Steve’s widened, and he quickly looked away, but not before catching a glimpse of the man’s smirk. He determinedly stared straight ahead until he was almost in the building. Then, he allowed himself one last look at the prisoner at the fence. 

The man had been staring, Steve was sure, and met Steve’s gaze immediately. He smirked again, somehow more kindly this time, and offered a small, half-wave.

Steve was a little shocked, and quite unsure how to respond. Did he wave back? Or did that set a bad precedent? Would waving back undermine his authority?

Steve glanced at the man’s face again, before raising his hand and returning the gesture. There was something in the other man’s expression, Steve could feel, that was trustworthy. The wave would do no harm. 

He quickly followed the advancing queue in through the door, and sighed with relief when he made it through the detector and into the office. Nice going, Rogers, he thought. Not even clocked in yet and you’re already flirting with hardened criminals.

He punched his ID into the computer, and followed the other men through to the conference room, where they would receive their day’s assignments and briefing.

The meeting was short and to the point (evidently, no one liked daily orders) and before he knew it, Steve was out in the general population, armed with only his baton and limited training. His first assignment was to supervise lunch in the general cafeteria. He straightened the cuff on his sleeve and headed down the hall, hoping he wouldn’t get lost.   
There was no way he was asking a prisoner for directions.

++++++++++

Bucky laughed quietly to himself, and stamped out his cigarette on his metal wrist. He flicked the butt through the fence and headed back inside as he heard the call for lunch over the prison speakers. 

The new guard seemed like a piece of work, he thought to himself as he queued up with the other inmates on the way to the cafeteria. Bucky really seemed to rattled him with that little waving stunt, and he patted himself on the back for doing so. 

Sometimes, he thought, you gotta just show ‘em who’s boss.

The prisoner behind Bucky, Loki “I-Tried-to-Kill-My-Brother-In-a-Fit-of-Heroin-Induced-Rage” Laufeyson, stepped heavily on Bucky’s heels. 

“Watch it,” Bucky hissed over his shoulder. The lanky man grinned evilly, and did it again. Since the line was coming to a slow halt at the window, Bucky turned around to face him.

“Quit it, Laufeyson. I ain’t jokin’,” Bucky threatened, eyes shifting sideways, looking for guards.

“Ooor what?” Loki leered, licking his lips. “Hmm?”

Bucky opened his mouth to say something, but in a fleeting moment of adulthood closed it and faced the front of the line. He continued forward, trying desperately to ignore the constant slipping of his shoes. He could hear Loki cackling behind him, but bravely decided to wait it out. 

He got his tray, and headed towards the back of the cafeteria, where he usually sat. He could maybe even get a whole table to himself, if he put on the appropriate bitch-face. 

Bucky was sitting on the bench, almost enjoying the ham and cheese sandwich he had been served. The lunch room was relatively calm this afternoon, with the few guards staring, bored, around the room.

Of-goddamn-course.

Parked right next to the main doorway, hands resting on his belt, was the new CO. The one Bucky had intimidated this morning.

Did Bucky mention that he was ridiculously hot?

Bucky finger-combed some of his hair in front of his face, as if that would make him less noticeable or recognizable in a cafeteria full of prisoners. He finished his sandwich quickly and made to stand up and leave, when he heard that horribly grating voice call his name. 

“Where’ya going, Bucky?” Loki sneered menacingly. This time, he was flanked on either side by his cronies, Zola and Faustus. They were huge compared even to Bucky, and he stepped back a little in response.

“God, won’t you ever just drop it, kid?” Bucky asked, exasperated. Loki had been out for his within a week of his arrival. Claimed he had “stolen his place” and “upset the hierarchy” or something, just because he was in charge of workshop and got his own cell. Bucky had tried to have rational discussions with him at first, but quickly realized that was out of the question. He’d done his best to avoid the creep ever since, but it hadn’t always worked out.

Like now.

“Can’t,” Loki shrugged, stepping even closer. Zola and Faustus mirroring him. “Ever since you crawled your way in here, thinkin’ you’re the shit ‘cuz of what you did-”

“I didn’t do that,” Bucky insisted, whispering hysterically. Loki responded with a harsh laugh. 

“That’s what I tell people, too,” he giggled. “And there wasn’t near as much evidence on me as you.”

Bucky looked around helplessly, backing himself against the wall. It wasn’t that he couldn’t take Loki and his cronies - he definitely could - he just knew he couldn’t afford to. There was no way he was going to give the tabloids or his board of appeals the evidence they’d need see him as a hardened, violent, killer. 

“I’m not gonna fight you, Loki,” he admitted. “You know that.” 

Loki shrugged again and rolled up the sleeves of his jumpsuit. “Don’t bother me,” he grinned, shark-like teeth on full display. Bucky groaned internally, and braced himself for the first hit.

Faustus came in from the side, hooking his foot behind Bucky’s knee and knocking him to the ground. He crashed against the table on the way down, a sharp pain shooting up his elbow. Zola came in next, kicking Bucky squarely in the chest. He exhaled raggedly, choking in another breath. 

“That’s it,” Loki crooned as Zola landed another kick on Bucky’s shoulder joint. He kneeled over him, grabbing Bucky by the collar of his jumpsuit. He punched him, hard in the jaw, and Bucky’s neck snapped to the side. Loki hit him again, crunching Bucky’s nose under his fist.

“What’s going on here?” a deep voice asked. Bucky’s vision was blurry, and his head was pounding. He could hear a brief scuffle, and the whack of a guard’s baton. He blinked groggily and pushed himself up against the wall. He could see the new guard kneeling on Loki’s back, zip-typing his hands together. Two additional guards had done the same to Faustus and Zola. The new guard pulled Loki to his feet, and shoved him towards another guard who was waiting.

“First day and you’re already smackin’ them around?” the guard holding Faustus asked, grinning gap-toothedly at the new guy. “Get it, Steve!”

The new CO bit back a smile and rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair. “Just doin’ my best, Sam. Y’know how it is,” he winked, and Bucky could swear that his stomach actually did a flip. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Sam responded, tugging on Faustus’ arm. “We’re gonna get these guys back to the warden. You take him to the infirmary?” he jerked his chin at Bucky, who was still slumped miserably against the wall. 

Steve looked at him suddenly, and Bucky felt dizzy all over again. “I got ‘em,” Steve responded, not taking his eyes off Bucky. The other CO’s left, and Steve walked over to kneel by Bucky. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly, and Bucky nodded. 

“Jus’ a few bruises, and probably a broken nose,” he said, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Nothin’ new to me.”

Steve laughed, and Bucky couldn’t help but to smile. “Well, uh, I think we should take you to the infirmary anyway,” Steve decided, extending his hand to Bucky for assistance with standing. “Just in case,” he clarified.

Bucky accepted his hand and lugged himself up, trying not to hold on for longer than was strictly necessary. He stumbled a little, though, when he was fully vertical, but Steve was quick to catch him. 

“Whoa, there,” he smirked, one hand on Bucky’s side and the other on his shoulder. “Maybe not so fast next time, yeah?”

“Next time?” Bucky joked, slowly trying to regain his equilibrium. Steve laughed again, and Bucky felt like the most powerful man in the world. 

“Hopefully not,” Steve amended, before leading Bucky by the elbow down the hall to the infirmary. 

Bucky tried to keep his eyes straight ahead to watch where he was going, but did allow himself sidelong glances at his rescuer. His thoughts bounced around his head in a steady pattern of, I need to get out of here or I am so screwed. 

++++++++++

Steve tried to remain calm, but his heart was beating a thousand miles an hour in his chest. His first day, and he was already breaking up fights between the inmates!

Could be worse, he supposed, glancing at the prisoner he was leading down the hallway. Least this one’s pretty. He shook the thought from his head though, when he realized just how out of line he was holy shit.

Steve’s eyes widened a little bit at this realization, and the prisoner took notice. “Y’okay there, big guy?” he drawled, and was that a little New York Steve heard in his accent?

“Y-yeah,” Steve stuttered. He shifted his gaze away, and picked up their pace a little. “Just…this is my first day and all. Kinda got thrown right into the fire,” he laughed, and the inmate smirked along with him.

I really need to stop calling him “the inmate” in my head, Steve chastised himself. “So,” he cleared his throat slightly as he turned them down another hallway. “What’s, uh, what’s your name?” Smooth, Rogers. Might as well have asked what he’s in for.

The prisoner did eye him a little funny, but he answered readily. “Bucky,” he supplied. “Well, technically it’s James. James Buchannan Barnes. But everyone calls me Bucky,” he finished. 

Steve nodded, unsure where to take the conversation after that. “Um…been here, uh, long?” he tried, mentally kicking himself right in the goddamn forehead.

Bucky seemed to take it better than that, though, and laughed lightly. “Not really,” he said slowly. “’Bout seven months. I’m tryin’ for appeal, so I shouldn’t be here too much longer,” he added quickly, winking (Oh, sweet mother of Jesus, Steve thought incoherently) at Steve. “Let ya get too attached to your favorite resident Prison Punching Bag,” he joked.

Steve, mind still reeling from Bucky’s flirting (was it flirting? Was he actually flirting with a violent inmate on his very first day? What the hell?), laughed awkwardly. “Good, uh, good luck with that,” he said, trying to sound as sincere as possible. 

Bucky laughed again, louder this time. “You don’t gotta look so scared, Officer…Rogers,” he criticized, peering across Steve to read his nametag. “I ain’t done nothin’ to anyone, so I certainly ain’t gonna hurt you.”

They had arrived at the infirmary by now, and were waiting, seated on the plastic chairs lining the wall while the one nurse on staff attended to a patient. Steve relaxed a little at Bucky’s admission, but still treaded carefully. 

“I believe you,” Steve assured him. “Don’t think you could do much damage, anyhows,” he smirked. “I’ve seen ya fight.”

Bucky’s eyes widened a little bit, but he recovered quickly and laughed heartily. “That wasn’t shit, Officer,” he said. “I just ain’t looking for any trouble. Don’t wanna start nothin’ that would keep me here longer than I gotta be.”

Holy shit, did I fall for the one intelligent criminal in this entire prison? Steve asked himself, reflecting on his life’s bad decisions. He settled for replying with, “Good plan,” and quickly ushering Bucky up to the nurse’s table. She clicked her tongue at Bucky’s injuries, but set his nose (with only minor swearing on Bucky’s part) and cleaned up his cuts in a matter of minutes. 

“Thank ya, sweetheart,” Bucky called over his shoulder as Steve led him down the hallway. He turned and faced his guard, smiling crookedly.

“How d’I look?” Bucky asked, displaying his profile for Steve.

Steve snorted. “Good as new. Six and a half out of ten, maybe,” he appraised dryly, inspecting the butterfly bandages on Bucky’s jawline. 

Bucky pouted, his split lip only adding to the image. “Doin’ wonders for my self-esteem over here, Officer,” he whined, folding his arms. 

“Your ego ain’t my job,” Steve quipped, stopping once they were in the doorway of Bucky’s cell. 

“Maybe it is,” Bucky countered, flopping back on the bed. “Y’just started this morning. How would you know?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re not pulling one over on me, Barnes. Not on my first day.”

Bucky winked at Steve before rolling over in his bunk. “We’ll see about that, sir. Now leave me alone. Fightin’ takes a lot outta me.”

Steve chuckled quietly as he made his way back to the floor office. The other CO’s were waiting for him, and they spend the next half hour patting him on the back and listening to him retell the fantastic story. 

It was good fun, and Steve welcomed the sense of comradery in his new workplace. However much he tried not to, though, his mind always seemed to wander away to a certain pair of blue eyes…

++++++++++

Bucky was lying on his bed, head propped up on his elbow so he could see out the window. Everything was still vaguely sore from the fight yesterday, and he didn’t want to push it too much with a workout. 

Other prisoners milled about in the commons below, their collective noise creating a background hum for Bucky’s thoughts. Which all seemed to point in one terribly distracting direction…

The new guard. Steve. Steve Rogers. The second he had gotten the chance, Bucky had traded his last pack of cigarettes to the resident prison busybody, Peter Parker, for information on him. He hadn’t gotten much – just that Steve used to work in the government and had been transferred out for “unknown reasons” – but Bucky was still intensely interested. 

He had spent the last few hours memorizing Steve’s guarding route. He seemed to pass Bucky’s cell every eighteen minutes, meaning he was probably assigned to third floor general duty. Those three seconds when Bucky could see Steve flit past the bars were probably the greatest of his day.

This crush, or whatever it was, was seriously throwing Bucky for a loop. What the hell was it about this guy that had him so head-over-heels? Sure, he’d always had a thing for blondes…and blue eyes were always a plus. But he barely even knew Steve, and Buck already felt like he was in it for the long haul.

This was frustrating. Before all this shit had hit the fan, Bucky had no trouble getting a date. Between his sculpted features and his sharp tongue, ladies and gents were vying for a chance to take him home. 

Behind bars, his technique didn’t work so well. General population wasn’t exactly eHarmony, and Bucky was too focused on his case to look for love, anyway. Somehow, though, Steve had managed to slip into his periphery, and Bucky was completely and honestly fucked.

Bucky flopped back against his bed and studied the underside of the bunk above him. When staring at the carvings of racial epithets and male genitalia got to be too much, he sighed and tugged on a t-shirt. If he was going to lie around and be upset, he might as well do something useful while he’s at it.

Bucky entered the library and habitually did a perimeter check with his eyes. It was fairly quiet today, a fact for which Bucky was grateful. He turned past the non-fiction shelves to sit in his usual, secluded corner, when –

Someone was already there.

A man, of average height and with dirty blonde hair, was curled up in Bucky’s supposedly secret corner. He had a white bandage over his nose, a purple rope bracelet and his wrist, and Bucky is ashamed to admit that his first thought was, “holy shit this guy’s arms are huge.”

Bucky cleared his throat, but got no response. He doesn’t like to think of himself as a picky guy, but this corner was in just the right spot to reach all the books he needed as well as shield himself from other patrons and the nosy librarians. He cleared his throat a little louder again, but the man still did not move.

Bucky tried once again, this time adding a light kick to the man’s crossed calf. He looked up, suddenly, and narrowed his eyes. “Wassup?” he asked, annoyance evident in his voice.

“I, uh,” Bucky didn’t actually know what he’d do if he got this far, “Um. You’re in my spot,” he finished lamely.

The dude smirked, and kicked his legs out. “Your spot, huh?” he asked. “What makes it so?”

So we’ve got ourselves a smartass, Bucky thought. Well, best to fight fire with fire. “My name’s on it,” he asserted, and the guy snorted. 

“Where the fuck?” he asked, making a sweeping gesture with his arms. “I got 21/21 vision, I’ll have you know. Top of my archery class. And I don’t see shit.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows and leaned over the guy to pluck a book off the shelf. He handed it over, and the guy doubled over in laughter. He handed the book – Murderer: Worst Crimes of the 21st Century – back to Bucky, and pulled himself into a standing position. He stuck out his hand, and Bucky shook.

“Clint Barton,” the man said. “I don’t usually concede myself to random inmates’ wishes, but you seem like a pretty fuckin’ cool guy. Haven’t seen you around before, though…” he trailed off, and Bucky quickly filled in.

“Barnes. Bucky Barnes. Yeah, I usually, uh, keep to myself.” He flicked his eyes to the secluded enclave pointedly, and Clint laughed again.

“Well, bro, if you’ve got some kinda blood-claim to this spot I’ll letcha have it. No skin off my nose,” he winked, and laughed again. Bucky starts to think that he might actually like this guy.

“You seemed to be pretty absorbed in whatever you were doing when I showed up,” Bucky noted. “Took you a while to notice me. If you wanna stay, we can share.”

Clint shrugged and made a noncommittal noise. “Ah, man, I wasn’t doin’ shit. I’m just deaf.” Bucky would’ve taken that statement figuratively, but Clint brushed back his hair to point to a pair of hearing aids. “I’m basically just readin’ your lips right now.”

It was Bucky’s turn to smirk, and he set the book back on the shelf. That’s a neat party trick, he signed, exaggerating his movements some. It’d been a while since he’d practiced his ASL.

Clint’s eyes widened a little, and he signed back a little too quickly. Where’d you learn to sign?

I used to be a personal body guard. Mostly worked with people high up in the government. One of my clients was deaf, so I picked it up, he answered, stumbling over a couple of the words.

Clint laughed and took mercy on him. “Dude, that’s rad as hell. It’s pretty rare that you meet a convicted murderer that knows ASL.”

Bucky cringed. “I ain’t a murderer. I was just fucking with you,” he admitted. “I mean, that’s what I’m in for, but I didn’t do it. I just- oh, shit, this is not going where I wanted it to go,” he backtracked. “Didn’t mean to corner you in the library and spill my life story.”

Clint slid down the shelves, crossing his legs and pulling a (surely illegal) toothpick out of his jumpsuit pocket. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” He pointed at Bucky with the toothpick. “You’ve got balls, man. I admire that. I think we could be friends.”

Bucky sat opposite him, and sighed. “You might think I’m crazy after I tell you. Everyone else does.”

Clint laughed harshly. “Buddy, I’ve been here for six years. Armed robbery, forgery, attempted murder…I’ve got it all. That’s what the Russian mob will do to you,” he said, serious for a moment. “I don’t have a prayer of gettin’ out til I’m at least forty. So,” he grinned. “I’m gonna take what friends I can get. Start talking.”

Bucky bit his lip, considering his options. On one hand, he had just met this guy, a self-confessed gang banger. Why should he spill his life story? 

But on the other hand, he hadn’t really talked to anyone other than Pepper in a long, long time. And he was paying her, so that didn’t count.

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, kicking Clint lightly in the shin with his outstretched legs. “You asked for it, друг.”

Clint’s eyes widened again. “You know Russian too? Why?”

Bucky winked. “If you’d shut the hell up and listen to the story…”

Clint raised his hand and mimed zipping his lips closed, and then threw away the imaginary key. Bucky rolled his eyes, but began the story.

++++++++++

“I joined the army right outta high school,” he started, wringing his hands together nervously. “Wasn’t really cut out for anythin’ else. My dad had died a few years before, and my ma was barely scraping by as it was. Wasn’t gonna burden her with college or nothin’,” he shrugged. “So as soon as I was able, I decided to peel the hell outta Brooklyn and take my chances getting’ shot at overseas.

Turns out I was pretty good at it. The whole fightin’ thing, I mean,” Bucky clarified, smirking a little to himself. “Couple’a the officers started ta notice, and I got moved up the ranks ‘til I was top sniper in my platoon.”

Clint nodded his admiration at that fact, but remained true to his word and made no comment.

“But then there was…an accident,” Bucky continued. “It was a run ‘a the mill patrol op, but we had bad intel and got ambushed on the road. The jeep flipped, and caught fire real fast after that.” He paused, begging his voice not to shake. “Three of my guys died on impact. Two of ‘em made it to the chopper with me, but I was the only one ta make it home.”

Bucky rolled up his jumpsuit sleeve, displaying his metal prosthetic. “My arm had been pinned under the car for too long by the time our backup arrived,” he said quietly. “Nothin’ else they coulda done.”

He glanced up to gauge Clint’s reaction, see if it was one of pity or disgust. But Clint’s eyes were emotional, as if he knew exactly how Bucky felt. 

“I, ah, I wasn’t born like this,” Clint said suddenly, looking straight at Bucky. “I had kinda a rough childhood, and long story short, I ran off to join the circus when I was twelve.” When Bucky looked confused, he shrugged. “What else was I going to do with my impeccable aim and freakishly limber extremities?” Bucky nodded as he pieced it together, and Clint continued. 

“But, uh, the guys who ran the show weren’t so great. Russian mobsters, if you coulda guessed,” he laughed nervously. “Sure, they fed me and kept me safe, but only so they’d be sure I’d owe them. Had me do all sorts ‘a whack shit for them, and sometimes I couldn’t…I couldn’t keep up,” he mumbled. 

“They couldn’t take my fingers – my archery skills were too profitable to their show business – so they took something else.” Clint pointed to his hearing aids. “That’s what a baseball bat to head’ll do to ya, enough times.”

He cleared his throat, and straightened up against the bookshelf. “Sorry,” he laughed, popping his knees as he stretches his legs. “Didn’t mean ta step on your moment, Buck. I just…I felt like you could use some solidarity, y’know? Yer probably over the pity at this point, so I just thought it’d be nice if ya knew…it wasn’t gonna be so bad.”

Bucky smiled crookedly and ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, yeah. Um…thank you,” he said sincerely, looking up at Clint. “No one’s ever really said anything like that to me before and I, uh, appreciate it. It helps.”

Clint nodded and make the “ok” sign with his fingers. “Shit, I know I promised not to interrupt. Sorry,” he apologized, clearing his throat. “Forreal this time, I’ll stop.”

Bucky laughed and rolled his eyes good naturedly. “Ah, it’s alright,” he assured him. “But yeah, after the whole incident-” he gestured to his arm “- they sorta kicked me out. A sniper with one arm and a brain fulla cats ain’t much good to no one,” he said sarcastically.

“So I went back to Brooklyn, rented a shithole apartment in the city, and tried my very best to stay alive. I was working nights at this bar, The Red Room, for my ex-girlfriend until one day this guy came up to me. He was dressed real nice, in a fuckin’ suit and everything, lookin’ real outta place in this trashy bar downtown. He knew my name, thanked me for my service ‘nd all that, and then he offered me a job, like, bam, outta nowhere.

This guy, he says his name is Jasper Sitwell. Works for a private protection agency called HYDRA. They rent out bodyguards to real high-level guys; it’s like a for-hire secret service. Anyway, Sitwell says they’d love to have someone with ‘my particular skill set.’ And here I am, fresh outta the desert, with this amazing job opportunity practically bein’ given to me on a silver platter.” Bucky looks helplessly at Clint. “What was I supposed to do?

So of course, I said, ‘hell yeah, man, whatever you need.’ And I go to the office, I fill out a little paperwork, meet a few of the other guys, but y’know, nothing seems to weird. And a day later, I get my first assignment. Two weeks later, I’m getting my first paycheck- for a lot of fuckin’ money.” Bucky laughs to himself, remembering. “I’m tellin’ ya, for a small-time, disabled vet like me, this job was golden. I didn’t see how it coulda been better.”

“So why’dya murder those damn people?” Clint asks, clearly frustrated by the story. Bucky glares at him, and throws his hands up. 

“I didn’t! That’s what I’m tryin’ ta tell ya!” he says, exasperated. 

Clint fidgets in his seat, and leans back against the bookshelf. “I’m jus’ a little confused, ‘s all,” he mumbles. 

Bucky sighs and pinches his nose. “I’m sorry. But that’s what I was gonna say – the job was awesome, but if I’da paid some damn attention I’da known where this all was headin’.

One’a the things they said was ‘in my contract’ or whatever was that I had to take these vitamins. Every goddamn morning they made us line up and take ‘em. Fuck, they coulda been sugar pills for all I knew. I asked Sitwell about ‘em once, but he just gave me some rehearsed speech about how his ‘employees were held to a certain physical standard’ for the ‘protection and well-being of his clients’ and all that. And I mean, the pills weren’t doing anything to me immediately, so I figured, why the hell not?”

Bucky laughs again. “Clint, dude, as I’m telling this story out loud I realize it makes me sound like the biggest jackass in the world,” he admits. “I promise, it wasn’t like this at the time.”

Clint chewed his toothpick thoughtfully. “I ain’t sayin’ anything, man. I totally understand,” he winked, and Bucky wasn’t sure what that mean, but he continued anyway. 

“Yeah, so all ‘a this went on for…oh, about a month. I went to work every day, always at 8:00 in the morning, always with a different client. I was in and out all the time. Didn’t bother me much, not like I had a life anyhow. I didn’t keep track of the days anymore.

And yeah, in hindsight, this was no way to live. But I’m telling you, when it was a choice between that and my other options…” Bucky shook his head. “There was no competition,” he said softly.

“But anyway. The murders,” he said, eyeing Clint. “It went down like this. One night, real late, I got called in to escort this couple home from a part. Howard and Maria Stark,” he said, and watched Clint’s expression of surprise.

“That was you!?” he hissed, ignoring all previous promises of silence.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No, that was not me! I mean, yeah, it technically was, but that’s what I’m trying to tell you!” he whispered back ferociously.

Clint just shook his head slowly and motioned for Bucky to go on. 

“So I rolled into work, and before any of us went out with a client we had to go through this session – HYRDA called it a briefing, but they were really intense. Basically, they just got us pumped up to go out and do our job.

After that was over, I took one of the cars and went to the assigned pickup location. I remember feeling sorta off, like I was real wired up or something. But I picked up the Starks and I started taking them back to their home, when…when it went downhill.

I have no idea what happened, I swear, but one second I was driving down the back road, chatting with Howard about some engineering project, and the next thing I knew I had veered the car off the road into the ravine. Fuck, I remember it was snowing and the car had hit a tree, so it was totaled…the Starks were trapped in the backseat, but I could get out. I remember…I remember popping open the glove compartment, just knowing that there was a gun inside. And I remember…I remember…” He cut himself off, trying desperately to slow his racing heartbeat. 

“I don’t know how, and I certainly don’t know why,” Bucky whispered, pointedly not looking at Clint. “But I killed them both. I don’t remember the action itself, and I don’t remember what happened afterward. The next…the next thing I knew, I was limping down the highway, covered in blood and toting the gun.” He looked up suddenly, wildly, and met Clint’s eyes. 

“No one will believe me,” Bucky gasped. “I didn’t do it, I didn’t mean it, and no one will believe me-”

“Hey, hey, man, I believe you,” Clint said, looking seriously at Bucky. “I’ve heard shit about HYDRA before. You’re not the only one.”

“I know! But those guys are worse off than me,” Bucky pointed out. “After I was arrested, I started doing my research. Lots of HYRDA’s clients have been killed in similar situations, but they’ve always extracted themselves before the company’s name can be linked to it.” Bucky shrugged and sighed heavily.

“I also had Pepper – she’s my lawyer – look into the company’s CEO, Alexander Pierce. Before he founded the rent-a-body-guard business, he was a neurobiologist, working for Stark Labs. They let him go, though, when they found out he was doing illicit research and experimentation – stuff on mind control and suggestive influence.”

Clint shook his head, slowly, and let out a soft whistle. “This is some deep shit, man. I think I need a cigarette.”

Bucky nodded emphatically and shook his pack, a sign that they should both head to the yard. They found a spot behind the woodworking shed and spent a few moments in silence, taking deep drags of their cigarettes. 

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Clint finally said. “This sounds like quite the clusterfuck, and I’ve got no clue how you’ve managed to get so deep into it. But I’m just here to say,” he began, stubbing out his cigarette on the edge of Bucky’s sneaker. “I’ve got your back. You’re a hard ass, no doubt, even if you ain’t killed no one.”

Bucky laughed, which quickly turned into a cough. “Thanks, Clint,” he said, flicking the butt of his cigarette through the fence. “I dunno what I’m gonna do either. But I guess I’ll figure something out.” He turned to Clint and winked. “Nothing to lose, amirite?”

Clint whooped a laugh and settled back against the shed. “No sirree, nothin’ at all. We’ve got nothin’ but time ‘round here.”

++++++++++

Steve finished drying a pint glass and set it back on the shelf. The Red Room had been busy tonight, and he was just now getting to his side work at – he checked his watch – 11:30. And I’ve gotta work tomorrow, too, he griped to himself as he began wiping down the bar.

“How was it, soldier?” Natasha asked out of nowhere, startling Steve. He narrowly missed knocking his head on the overhead glasses as he turned to face her. She snorted at his clumsiness and perched herself on the bar counter.

“What, are you asking about work today? At the prison?” he clarified, continuing with his cleaning. 

Natasha nodded. “Eh, it was alright,” Steve said carefully. “Everyone seemed pretty nice.”

Natasha laughed. “Only you would spend all day with a bunch of convicts and sum up the experience as ‘nice,’” she said. 

“You know I didn’t mean the prisoners,” said Steve, playfully swatting her with his rag. “Although they seemed okay. Pretty quiet for the most part, except for the fight.”

As he expected, Natasha leaned in closer, suddenly interested. “Oh, there was a fight?” she asked, and Steve smirked.

“Yeah, a couple inmates were ganging up on this one guy. They got a couple hits in, but I stepped in just in time.”

“How heroic,” Natasha replied sarcastically, before hopping off of the counter to assist with wiping glasses.

“Don’t patronize me! It actually was heroic. Bucky was pretty shaken up, and I helped him to the infirmary and everything,” he declared.

Natasha paused mid-wipe, and raised her eyebrow. “Bucky, huh?” she asked, feigning disinterest. “You took loving care of a criminal named Bucky?”

Steve frowned. “Well, his real name is James, but he likes to go by the shortened version of his middle name. He actually did seem nice.”

Natasha set her glass down, propping her chin up on her hand as she leaned on the bar. “His last name wouldn’t happen to be Barnes, would it?” she asked, smirking when Steve fumbled the martini shaker he was washing.

“How the hell did you know that?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

“Old colleague, ex-boyfriend, past bartender for this place,” she shrugged, returning to the glasses. 

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed. “Well, do you, uh, know why he’s in prison?”

“Wow, Rogers, get right to it, don’tcha?” Natasha said dryly, before sighing and continuing. “Technically, he was convicted of two counts of first-degree murder.”

Steve inhaled sharply. He had a school-girl crush on a psychopath.

“It’s not like that, though,” Natasha added quickly. “He’s not guilty.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say, Nat!” Steve got out, clearly distressed.

“Steve. Steve, I’m serious,” she said, touching his hand gently. “James has…well, he’s had a hard life. He was in the service for a while, and was injured overseas. These murder allegations,” she waved her hand dismissively. “From what I’ve heard, they’re a result of a corrupt personal safety agency and the tendency of people in high offices to want to ‘keep things quiet’.” 

Steve paused for a moment, apparently deep in thought. “He was different, I could tell,” he finally stated, quietly. “Bucky seemed smart, and almost too aware of his position.” 

“You liked him,” Natasha said simply. Steve blushed.

“I talked to him for fifteen minutes, Nat. I ain’t sayin’ nothing like that. I just…I sort of felt drawn to him? He was just…different,” Steve reiterated. 

Natasha printed the final checkout for the evening and Steve followed her out into the parking lot. “Watch out for him, will you, Steve?” Natasha turned and asked suddenly.

Steve paused as he was entering his car. “It’s just…we have a lot of history together, him and I,” Natasha admitted. “He was a really good guy, Steve, still is. And I don’t want him to get hurt any more than he already has.”

Steve’s expression softened. “Yeah, Nat. ‘Course. Anything for you,” he smiled, and she nodded before stepping into her own car. 

Steve watched her drive down the empty street before turning the ignition in his own car. He drove home with the radio off, contemplating this new information.

++++++++++

“Inmate 325725, please stand and face forward with your hands behind your head.” 

The voice had woken Bucky from his nap, and he turned over in his bunk, blinking blearily.

Steve leaned against the doorway, grinning sheepishly. “Guess I drew the short straw today for cell checks,” he mused as Bucky stood up and let Steve cuff him.

“Least you got the easy one,” Bucky said, his voice still husky from sleep. Steve pointedly ignored this fact, and tightened his right cuff.

“Sorry ‘bout all this,” he murmured, tugging lightly on the handcuff chain. “Procedure, y’know.”

“It’s…okay,” Bucky said slowly. What kind of guard apologized for handcuffing a prisoner? Why was Steve being so nice to him? “You kind of get used to it after a while.”

Steve shrugged and began inspecting the room. “Doesn’t mean ya have to like it,” he countered, lifting up the mattress with a gloved hand.

Bucky sighed and slid down the wall. He watched Steve closely, not because he was afraid the other man would find something illegal, but because Steve was interesting. He was a big guy, a little over six feet, and Bucky could see his biceps moving from here. But he moved with a delicate grace, like that of someone who’s not used to having such strength.

Steve ran his fingers along the underside of the sink, and checked the drain. “So, um, this might be kind of weird,” Steve started, his voice struggling to remain neutral.

Bucky snorted. “Yeah? Try me.”

“I was working with my friend the other night? And she asked me about work. I, um, I told her the story about the fight in the cafeteria, and I let your name slip. She, well, uh, she knows who you are,” Steve finished lamely.

Bucky cocked his head. “I didn’t think you and I really ran in the same circles, pal. Who is this girl?”

“Natasha Romanoff,” Steve answered. “I’ve known her for a while; we met ‘cos we lived together for a few years while going to NYU.” He leaned up against the sink, wringing his hands. “She opened a bar a few years back, The Red Room? I pick up a shift there every once in a while.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped. He shook his head, bewildered, and then laughed. “Ah, ‘course it was Natalia,” he murmured. “I’ve known her for a very long time,” he told Steve, smiling distantly. “Since high school. We even dated for a while,” he chuckled. 

“Yeah, um, she mentioned that,” Steve laughed nervously, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “She also told me that you were a good guy. And that I could trust you,” he said, quieter on the last part.

“She did?” Bucky asked, less surprised than grateful. Looks like he was going to have to send Tasha a fruit basket when he got out of here.

“Yeah. And – well, I don’t know if I should be telling you this part, but she also asked me to keep an eye on you.”

Bucky knit his eyebrows together. “What did she mean by that? I’m in a maximum security prison, I don’t think there’s much that could go wrong.”

“I’m not real sure,” Steve responded. “But I think she just wanted me to make sure that when you get out of here, it’s in one piece.”

“When,” Bucky repeated sarcastically. “I think she means ‘if’. I’ve got life with no parole, let’s not forget.”

“I thought you were working on appeals?” Steve asked, concern evident in his expression.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I was. I mean, I am. But, uh, it’s not going so well.”

Steve stepped forward, motioning for Bucky to stand so that he could be uncuffed. “What happened?” he asked, gently sliding the handcuffs off. Bucky choked on his breath a little when Steve’s fingers brushed his wrist, but covered it with a cough.

“It’s nothin’, really,” he started, sitting on his bunk. “Just, my lawyer, Pepper, came by and saw me yesterday. She was working on getting this motion to go through – some sort of mental health plea – but it didn’t pass.”

“Mental health?” Steve asked. “How would that prove you’re not guilty?”

Bucky looked up at the blonde guard, eyes sad. “It wouldn’t. It would just mean that I would be transferred to a state psychiatric hospital and pumped full of Thorazine until I die of cardiac arrest in thirty years.”

Steve shook his head. “No, Bucky, that’s ridiculous! Why can’t you just contest the charges? Put in a not-guilty plea?”

Bucky sighed. He’d had this argument a million times already, and it was just as painful. “Steve, that wouldn’t work. No one believes me, and there’s no evidence to help my case.” He spread out his hands helplessly. “Not even Pepper,” he whispered.

“I believe you,” Steve said quietly. Bucky’s head shot up, and he narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Why the hell would you say that?” Bucky asked. “You don’t even know me.”

Steve came closer, until he was face-to-face with Bucky. “You’re right, I don’t know you. I’ve only been on this job for a week, and for that, I could be getting myself into cahoots with a full-on psychopath.” He stepped infinitely closer, and Bucky was so nervous he almost forgot to breathe. 

“But let me tell you what I do know,” Steve continued in a low voice. “Natasha trusts you. And her judgement of everyone is scarily accurate, so I’m not about to contest that. But secondly,” he paused, licking his lips. (Was that really, entirely necessary? Bucky wanted to know.) “I’ve got a good vibe from you, Buck. You’re not like the other people around here. I believe your story, and I want to help you. Because you don’t deserve this.”

Bucky continued breathing shallowly for a few moments until Steve stepped away, heading towards the door. Just as he was about to leave, Bucky called, “Wait!”

Steve stopped and turned. “Thank you,” Bucky said, barely meeting Steve’s eyes. “That…means a lot. I appreciate it.”

Steve gave him a soft smile. “Anytime, Buck.” He winked, and then set off down the hallway.

Bucky fell back against his bed, heart racing. Steve’s admittance meant more to him than Steve could ever know, and Bucky was infinitely grateful for it. The whole conversation prompted him to write to Natalia later, and start with an apology for neglecting their friendship for so long.

Steve’s inexplicable confidence in him also inspired him to call Pepper. He had done a little more research on his case since their last meeting, and he took Steve’s advice and tried to push them in a new direction.

As he was working, Bucky caught himself smiling. He rarely did so nowadays, and he felt a warm buzz throughout his body when he realized he was doing so because of Steve.

++++++++++

Steve sat in the guard’s room, picking at his lunch. He was so deep in thought that he didn’t even hear his name being called.

“Steve! You all right there, buddy?” Sam asked, giving Steve a puppy-dog look through is brown eyes. 

Steve cleared his throat. “Yeah, sorry man, I got lost in thought for a minute. No big deal.” He took a slightly-too-large bite of his sandwich to avoid having to elaborate on his answer.

Sam continued looking at him, concerned, but eventually shook his head and scooped up another forkful of lasagna. “So, how’dya like it here? Everyone else treatin’ you okay?” 

Although Sam was technically just another CO, he had been at the SHIELD facility longer than any of the other officers. He refused all promotions, claiming he loved his job too much, so he became the unofficial manager of all newcomers. Sam ran a tight shift, but was respected and well-liked among all his coworkers, including Steve.

“It’s great, Sam. Not exactly what I was expecting, sure, but I can’t complain,” Steve replied, sipping his iced tea.

Sam laughed. “Yeah, not really as exciting as it is in the movies, huh?” he asked, and Steve had to agree.

“I like the quiet, though. That’s why I like walking the barracks. The inmates seem to be pretty docile around there,” he told Sam.

“For the most part,” Sam amended. “I hate doin’ that, though. It gives me the creeps, walkin’ right through their ‘home territory’ or whatever like that. I prefer watchin’ the yard. It’s kinda like bein’ a teacher at recess,” he joked.

“The maturity level is probably the same,” Steve laughed, and Sam joined in. 

“So, do you know a lot about the individual prisoners?” Steve asked, eying Sam’s response carefully. Sam took a long drink of his Diet Coke before responding.

“You pick up some stuff, bein’ here for a while,” he said finally. “I try not to get too into it, just because it makes the job easier, but there’s some stuff you just can’t ignore.”

“Like what?” Steve asked, trying not to act too interested. 

Sam considered this for a moment. “You know, in the C block, all the way at the end of the row? James Barnes, I think his name is?” he asked, lowering his voice.

Steve nodded, and Sam continued. “He’s one of the only prisoners that’s been here longer than me. SHIELD is a pretty new facility, so we don’t get a lot of the life-ers.”

“What’s weird about him?” Steve asked, maintaining an even voice.

“All the other prisoners just sort of…avoid him, I guess,” Sam said. “They give him this wide berth, for the most part. I dunno if they’re scared of him or what, but I sure as hell am.” He shuddered. “Those piercing blue eyes? I’ve no doubt that those’re the last thing some poor fella saw before Barnes took ‘im out.”

Steve decided there was no socially appropriate way to admit what exactly Bucky’s eyes did to him, so he made a noncommittal noise and continued. “I heard he was in for doin’ a double,” Steve said evenly. “Y’think he’s still dangerous?”

Sam popped a couple peanut M&Ms into his mouth. “I’d venture so,” he decided. “I don’t really care one way or another. He’s here for good, so he’d better get used to it.”

Steve nodded and stood to return to work. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said in response, and pushed his chair in. “Thanks for lunch, Sam. Nice talking to you.”

Sam nodded and gave Steve a two-finger salute as he headed back out into general population. He checked the schedule on the board, and saw he was due out in the yard for the duration of his shift. He shrugged on his police-issued windbreaker and headed out.

++++++++++

Bucky sat against the back of the shed, chain-smoking a pack of cigarettes he had nicked from someone’s unattended jacket pocket. They weren’t his usual brand, and the aftertaste of the smoke was more bitter than he would have liked. 

But as they say, beggars can’t be choosers. 

He flicked his lighter absentmindedly while his mind wandered. Inevitably, his thoughts found their way to Steve. Bucky sighed. Why was he so wrapped up in this guy? Sure, Steve was one of the only people in the world who believed his story, and more importantly, seemed to believe in him. 

But Bucky knew he was way out of his league. Not only was Steve his fucking corrections officer, he was way too good for Bucky. From a mile away, Bucky could smell his suburban upbringing, Catholic schooling, and his unfortunate heterosexuality. There was no way in hell this little obsession of his was going to end up as anything other than a heartbreaking crush.

But, as his masochistic tendencies reared their head, he continued thinking about what could’ve been. He imagined himself, out of prison and completely exonerated (with a tidy monetary settlement from the government for his troubles), living in a small flat back home in Brooklyn. Steve would be with him, as this was his fantasy world, and they would spend their days idling in Central Park or watching the stars from their roof. 

Bucky smiled wryly around his cigarette at this little daydream. He knew from experience that falling for unattainable guys never ended well, but for some reason it seemed to be his forte. 

Ah, well, he thought. Can’t a guy on Death Row dream a little?

“You know,” a deep voice began, startling Bucky enough to almost drop his cigarette. “You really shouldn’t be back here.”

Bucky looked up, squinting against the sun, to see Steve leaning his shoulder against the side of the shed. He grinned down at Bucky, who was helpless but to respond in the like.

“I’m not entirely sure you’re allowed back here, either,” Bucky retorted, stubbing out his cigarette and lighting a new one.

Steve shook his head lightly. “You forget, I am an officer. I think that means I have wandering privileges. And the power to turn you in.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and bumped his head back against the shed. “Can you just let me smoke in peace? This one time?”

Steve laughed, and checked over his shoulder before going to sit next to Bucky. “I might be inclined to do so…if you’re inclined to share.” 

“Be my guest,” Bucky offered, holding out his pack. Steve balanced a cigarette between his lips, and leaned over to Bucky for a light. And while his hands may have shaken embarrassingly, Bucky is proud to announce that it only took him three tries to get a flame.

Steve’s cheeks hollowed as he inhaled, and he sighed gently as he blew out a cloud of gray smoke. “Haven’t done this in years,” he reminisced, taking another drag. “Don’t know why I stopped.”

“Because those things’ll kill ya?” Bucky suggested, blowing a perfect smoke ring. Steve huffed in annoyance, and tapped a bit of ash off of the end of his cigarette. 

“They almost did, once,” Steve mused, so quietly Bucky almost didn’t hear him.

“Yeah? What happened?” Bucky asked, just as quietly. 

Steve took another drag, and resituated himself against the building before he answered. Their knees brushed against each other, and Bucky suppressed the urge to gasp.

“I used to be real small,” Steve started, and snorted when Bucky’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I know, hard to believe,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “But that’s how it was, before I was like, nineteen or twenty and finally hit my growth spurt.” He smoked again, and hacked a cough when he was finished.

“Anyway, I used to get sick, all the time. Had real weak lungs, and a bad heart to boot.” He smirked. “Brooklyn air wasn’t all that conducive to a healthy life for an asthmatic with a heart murmur.”

“You grew up in Brooklyn?” Bucky cut in, nervously twiddling his cigarette between his two fingers. 

Steve nodded. “Born and raised, pal. You too?”

“’Til I shipped out at eighteen,” Bucky answered. “I still consider it my home.”

Steve took a long look at him, before he murmured, “Yeah, me too.”

Bucky smiled a half-smile, and Steve returned the favor before continuing the story. “So I spent my childhood in and outta hospitals. Doctors were never quite sure what to do with me, but we didn’t have much money to anything, anyways.” He shrugged. “I was home, stuck in bed a lot, with my dad. Ma worked doubles at the nursing home to make ends meet after he lost his job.”

“That must’ve been hard,” Bucky said softly, sounding sincere. Steve nodded, and wiped absently at his eye.

“Yeah, but, y’know, we always got by. She always took care of us,” Steve insisted. “But dad…he didn’t know what to do with himself after he was let go. He was angry, that was for sure. Took up drink, and this, too.” Steve gestured to his cigarette. “Which wouldn’t have been so bad, ‘cept for he was a volatile drunk. And he always smoked inside.

Ma asked him, again and again, to at least blow it out the window. Told him how it was messin’ with my lungs, how it was bad for my recovery. He would just laugh, though, and go on and on about how this was his house and he’d do what he pleased.” Steve sighed. “She couldn’t do nothin’ about it. He was…too strong.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened in sympathy, but he said nothing, sensing Steve wasn’t finished yet. “So, I…I uh, got worse. Caught pneumonia one winter when I was fourteen, and we didn’t have enough for me to stay in the hospital. Ma would bring me home medicines, when she could get ‘em, but it only did so much, y’know?

And dad…he was up to one, maybe two packs a day ‘round then.” Steve pause for a moment and stubbed out his cigarette. “One night, I remember, when Ma was working late, he came into my room to watch over me. I hadn’t been sleepin’ too good lately, and Ma had insisted. But he brought his cigarettes with him.”

“What happened?” Bucky asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Steve smiled harshly. “I had an asthma attack. But, he was too drunk to know what to do.” He laughed humorlessly. “I remember just gasping for air, and tearing at my throat with my fingers, desperate.” He looked at Bucky, his eyes sad. “I think I passed out after a while. Thankfully, Ma was coming home soon, so she found us in time.”

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the shed. “We left, I think, the week after that. Moved in with Ma’s cousins. Don’t really know what happened to Dad.”

They were quiet for a moment, Bucky flicking his lighter anxiously. “Steve…I’m sorry,” he started, but Steve cut him off.

“Don’t be. That’s just how things were back then. I got over it a long time ago.” He turned to Bucky and smiled, his eyes still haunted but his smile real. “And look, now I can even smoke without getting’ too worked up about it,” he joked.

Bucky laughed, and purposefully knocked their knees together. “You’re the picture of health,” he said, looking Steve up and down playfully.

Steve raised his eyebrow. “Yeah? What gave it away, the rippling muscles or the blinding smile?”

A rosy blush colored Bucky’s cheeks. He appraised Steve again, as subtly as possible. “I think it was the twinkling in your eyes,” he crooned jokingly, and Steve pouted and batted his eyelashes at him.

“SHIELD resident Playboy, yep, that’s me,” he winked, leaning closer to Bucky, who sucked in a breath. Steve’s face was incredibly close to his, and it took every bit of self-control he had not to look at the other man’s lips.

Steve, apparently, did not have this level of control. He moved closer, eyes soft. Steve tilted his head, eyes carefully on Bucky, allowing him to move away at any time.

Bucky mirrored his movements, allowing himself to get infinitesimally closer to Steve. When they were mere centimeters apart, Bucky grinned wolfishly, and caught Steve’s chin in his flesh hand. He pressed their lips together, softly at first, but more intensely when Steve let out a shocked breath, and tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair.

Bucky moved his hand to rest on the back of Steve’s neck, and stroked his cheekbone with his metal thumb. Steve smiled against his lips, giving Bucky the opportunity to deepen the kiss. 

Steve pulled away after a few moment, leaving Bucky with a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. He blinked up at the brunette, eyes wide, lips glistening a lovely shade of bitten red.

“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” Bucky asked, voice low and husky.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “That’s how it’s going to be.”

++++++++++

They sat like that for a while, holding each other, exchanging the occasional whisper or kiss. Steve would peek around the building every so often and make sure no one had noticed him missing.

As the sun began to color the sky orange, though, he checked his watch. “My shift ends in thirty,” Steve said, struggling to a standing position. “We should probably get going.”

Bucky held out his hands, and Steve lugged him upright as well. “Good idea. Bein’ seen with you could really put a damper on my street cred,” he said thoughtfully.

“Yeah, not like I could lose my job or anything,” Steve retorted.

Bucky stopped, dropping their hands. “Thanks for that, Captain Buzzkill,” he said sarcastically. “Good to know that’s what you’re thinkin’ about in your post-coital haze. What would be the worst thing about getting caught, huh? That you’d have to go to prison?”

Steve sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bucky, you know it isn’t like that. I’m sorry if I came off that way,” he said, reaching out again to take Bucky’s hand. “This…whatever this is, it’s important to me. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt,” he explained, kissing Bucky’s knuckles gently.

Bucky sighed too, powerless against Steve’s endearing displays of affection. “Yeah, dollface, I get it,” he said, resigned. “Don’t mean I gotta like it.”

“Just wait ‘til you’re outta this place,” Steve said, smoothing out his hair and straightening his tie. “That’s when the real party’ll start.”

Bucky leaned in close for a goodbye kiss on the cheek. “Sure thing, Stevie,” he murmured, watching as Steve slipped out from behind the shed and integrated himself back into his guarding duties.

Bucky groaned, and exited out from behind the other side of the shed. Although he could still feel the excitement thrumming in his chest, he felt the heavy drag of guilt as well. ‘When’ you get out of this place, Steve had said. Bucky didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was more of an ‘if’.

Things with Pepper still weren’t going well. Bucky had exhausted nearly all of the resources available to him, and it was getting down to the wire. During their last hearing, the judge had set a final date for his execution – September 16th. He had his last appellate session two weeks prior to that; it was his last chance to prove himself.

He mulled all of this over in his head on his walk back to the main building. So far, he thought, I’ve got a pending execution date, a new-found romance, and less than three weeks to figure out what to do about it all. He smiled to himself as he reentered the building, even chuckling slightly when his prosthetic arm inevitably set off the metal detector.

What have you gotten yourself in to? he mused, grateful when he finally made it back to his cell and could collapse sleepily onto the shaky mattress. 

++++++++++

Steve was walking though the B wing a few days later, patrolling the halls when he heard a noise.

“Pssst!” someone hissed, and Steve turned on a dime, raking his eyes up and down the hallway. He didn’t see anyone, though, so he returned to his route.

“Hey! Psst! Stevie!” the voice said, and Steve finally caught a glimpse of a messy brown ponytail tucking back into the supply closet. He grinned to himself, and looked both ways before ducking in behind the other man.

There was some fumbling around, as the closet was pitch black, and Steve caught an elbow to his jaw before one of them finally pulled the light bulb string. It cast a yellow glow over the dusty closet, but to Steve, Bucky had never looked more beautiful.

“Took ya long enough,” Bucky huffed, blowing a few strands of hair out of his face. “What’s a guy gotta do to get yer attention, anyways?”

Steve pretended to consider this, tracing his fingers absentmindedly up and down Bucky’s neck. “Dunno,” he whispered, pausing for a moment. “Get the shit kicked out of him in the cafeteria, maybe?”

Bucky pulled him in for a hard kiss in retaliation, not to say that Steve didn’t enjoy it. “Punk,” he mumbled affectionately, when they broke for air.

“Jerk,” Steve countered, resting their foreheads together. “Saw you had another meeting with Pepper today,” he began, intertwining their fingers.

Bucky exhaled loudly. “Yeah. Gonna be the same as always, though.”

Steve lifted Bucky’s face to meet his. “Hey, don’t be like that,” he pleaded. “You’ve still got time ‘til your next hearing. Maybe you guys’ll find somethin’.”

Bucky choked a laugh. “Yeah. Maybe one day pigs’ll grow wings and fly, too, pal.”

Steve sighed sadly and squeezed Bucky’s hand a little tighter. “Please don’t give up, Bucky. For me.”

Bucky smiled crookedly and kissed Steve’s nose. “Never, babydoll.”

Steve rolled his eyes but leaned closer into Bucky. “I never asked – is there anything I can do to help? Like, look for some records, or something like that?”

Bucky thought for a moment. “Not really, Steve. We’ve looked just about everywhere we’re allowed to.”

Steve looked at Bucky seriously. “If you need me to do something…sketchy,” he settled on, “I’m not above it.”

Bucky shook his head. “I could never ask you that. I could never ask anyone that.”

“Just tell me what it is,” Steve asked. “I’ll say no if I really can’t. But please, Buck,” he begged. “I want to help you.”

Bucky fidgeted nervously. “HYRDA had an archive room, on the third floor of their main building.” Steve nodded, and Bucky continued. “I never knew what they kept in there; I wasn’t allowed access. But I have a feeling it was something bad.”

“We need to get in there,” Steve said immediately. 

“No way!” Bucky said firmly. “There’s been no conclusive evidence that they’ve committed a crime, so we can’t get a warrant for the stuff. And there’s no way they’d turn the files over willingly.”

Steve winked. “Then we get them through…less conventional means.”

“Hell no, Stevie,” he said. “You’re not breaking in to a dangerous place like HYRDA just to save my ass.”

“Why not?” Steve pouted. “It’s a pretty good ass.”

Bucky flicked his ear. “I’m serious here, sweetheart. I can’t make you do that.”

Steve pressed a soft kiss to Bucky’s temple. “You ain’t makin’ me do nothin’, Buck. I want to do this. Promise.”

Bucky sighed, aggravated. “How exactly do you plan on going about this?” he asked.

Steve winked again. “Natasha…knows some things¸ or so she’s implied on many occasions,” he admitted. “So I think between the two of us and our training, we’ve got it covered.”

“I met a guy here…his name’s Clint,” Bucky said suddenly. Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Barton? Sandy blonde hair, arms as big as a tree trunk?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, that’s him!” Bucky answered. “He, uh, he told me that he was in the mob for a while. Don’t give me that look, Stevie, I’m in prison here – what kind of friends do you think I’m gonna make? Anyway, I think he’d want to help us.”

Steve considered this. “He would probably be useful. He’s in the A block, right? I’m there after lunch. I’ll see what I can do.”

Bucky made an affirmative noise. “Alright, sounds good.” He looked back up at Steve, and grabbed his face with both hands. “You be careful, okay? Keep that sorry ass safe for me.”

Steve kissed him quickly and stood to exit the closet. “You do the same,” he insisted, and ruffled Bucky’s hair before sliding out the door.

Bucky cursed under his breath and finger-combed his hair back into place. “The things I do for love,” he mused, before picking up the nearest mop and heading back out into the hallway. 

++++++++++

Natasha smiled and wiped a fake tear away from here eye. “You want me to help you break into a secret records room for one of the most dangerous organizations in the world?” she asked Steve in a sappy voice.

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “Um…yeah, I guess so.”

Natasha immediately straightened up, and smacked Steve’s ass as she walked past him to her closet. “Damn straight you do. I knew you’d be after my services one day, Rogers.”

Steve flopped back on Natasha’s bed. They had been eating a late dinner in her apartment that night when Steve had brought up the conversation he’d had with Bucky earlier. She had listened, maintaining eye contact the whole while, while Steve finished the story.

Steve knew the best way to get Natasha’s help was to flatter her ego, so he peppered his request with lots of compliments about her “unmatched skills” and “really fuckin’ scary history” with this sort of thing. Thankfully, she had agreed. Steve breathed a sigh of relief, because without Natasha, this whole thing was a bust.

“You’ve gone soft, old man,” she remarked, crouched in front of a bin full of wires and cords. “The Steve I knew would never embark on a highly illegal hacking operation for some dude.”

“He’s not just some dude, Nat,” Steve whined, fully aware that he sounded like the lead female character in every bad romantic movie ever. “Bucky’s been screwed over by the system. I just want to make it right for him – he deserves that much.”

Natasha stood, holding a fist full of cords. She began plugging them into her laptop and the surrounding outlets while she responded. “A lot of people get screwed over by the system, Steve. That’s why you became an officer in the first place, remember? So what makes Bucky the ‘final straw’ or whatever?”

Steve scrubbed his face with his hand. “I dunno. I really don’t. I think it’s just ‘cos he’s so…innocent, y’know? He’s never gotten a break in his life and all he’s tried to do is make a better way for himself. I don’t want him to end that way in the electric chair.”

“Oh, please, Rogers,” Nat said, pursing her lips. “This is the twenty-first century. He’s never go to the electric chair. Lethal injection is much more likely.”

Steve gave her a withering look, and she sighed. “You know what I mean,” she snapped, before abandoning her electronics to sit beside Steve on the bed. “Steve, you may not believe me, but I know a thing or two about love,” she started, and punched Steve (hard, ouch Natasha, what the fuck!?) in the shoulder when he giggled in disbelief.

“Shut up and listen, because you’re only going to here this once,” she stated in a voice that brooked no arguments. “You already know my childhood wasn’t so great, growing up in Soviet Russia, training ballet fourteen hours a day, learning how to shoot a gun at age eight,” she continued. “But the only reason I got over here, to America, is because my parents loved me enough to fight. They saved everything they earned, went without so much, just so that we could maybe build a better life someday.” 

She looked at Steve earnestly. “When I finally got here, I knew it had all been worth it. Even the things that I thought were bad over there became good or useful over here.” She smirked fondly at the memory. “When I walked into that Special Ops exam and grouped a bullseye on my target on the first try? I thought the instructor was going to piss his pants right in front of little Natalia,” she mocked in a heavy Russian accent.

Steve laughed. “And now I own a bar,” Natasha went on, “where I can be with my friends that I love and talk to people that I love and mix drinks that I love.” She patted the back of Steve’s hand. “The point I’m trying to make,” she said, “is this: when you know something is good for you, fight for it. That’s the basic principal of love,” she shrugged.  
Steve sat there for a moment, considering her words. “That was…strangely beautiful, Natasha. Thank you,” he said as she returned to her computer.

“Tell anyone you heard that shit from me, and you’re dead and they’ll never find your body,” she deadpanned, eyes focused on her computer screen.

“O-okay,” Steve stuttered, eyes widening a little at the threat.

Natasha looked over and winked at him. “Another thing, too – when you and James get married, I get to be the best man.”

Steve groaned, and buried his face in the pillow while Natasha cackled at her keyboard behind him.

++++++++++

Bucky sat alone at a table in the cafeteria, his back to the wall. It was his usual table, with his usual lack of company, but he liked it that way. He had scooped up a forkful of what the staff was trying to pass off as meatloaf when Clint appeared in front of him, slamming his tray down onto the table.

“Bucky, buddy! How’s it going?” Clint said, just a little too loudly.

Turn up your hearing aids, Bucky signed, wincing.

Clint’s eyes widened, and he quickly adjusted the aids. “Yo, sorry man,” he said – this time at a normal volume – as he took a seat in front of Bucky. “I had to go to a seminar this morning, some drug thing that I’m at every week.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t give a shit about what they have to say, so I usually just tune them out. Literally,” he chuckled, and Bucky cracked a smile.

“Understandable,” Bucky agreed. “Listen, Clint, I might need your help on something.”

Clint stole half of the cookie that was on Bucky’s tray. “Yeah, brother, whatcha got for me?” he asked, mouth half full.

Bucky handed him the other half of the cookie, trying to incentivize his new Russian friend. “You know that I’m in trouble with the law and everything,” Bucky started, and Clint barked a laugh.

“We’re in prison, pal, we’re all in trouble with the law. But yeah, yeah, I know your little situation,” he winked, motioning for Bucky to continue.

“I’ve recently…met someone,” Bucky said carefully, “who said he’d be willing to help me in a more unconventional way. But he can’t do it alone – I need your advice,” he said.

Clint whistled. “You got a boy on the outside?” he reaffirmed, and Bucky waved his hand in a so-so motion.

“For the purposes of this conversation, let’s go with that,” Bucky said, pointedly ignoring Clint’s raised eyebrows.

“Alright, alright, keep yer secrets,” Clint said. “So what do you need me to do?”

“I need information for him and his partner. They’re going to break into the archives of HYDRA, the personal protection agency that I believed brainwashed me and dozens of other agents into committing murder,” Bucky said, keeping his voice low. “But HYDRA is heavily and efficiently guarded. Ste- my man’s partner is good at that sort of thing, has a background in it or whatever, but she’s never done something like this before.”

Clint nodded thoughtfully. “I have,” he smirked. “HYDRA was after a couple of guys in my gang,” he remembered. “They wanted the ‘specific skill set’ that they possessed. One guy was tempted by the money, but wanted to make sure it was a straight deal. So we went in one night, took a little look-sie around,” he grinned. “Lots and lots of files, but nothing good. He ended up declining their offer.” 

“So how’d you do it? Easy enough?” Bucky asked earnestly.

“Doable,” Clint conceded, “but not easy. The main problem you’re going to have is getting past their door alarm.”

“Their door alarm?” Bucky asked doubtfully. Clint pointed a disapproving finger in his direction.

“Hey, son, who’s the master burglar in this situation? Not you. I know what I’m doing,” he declared, before pulling his chair up closer to the table. “The alarm is highly sensitive, and will trigger when it senses pressure on any door, window, vent, skylight – any access point into the building.”

Bucky frowned. “So, how do you avoid tripping it?”

Clint leaned even closer, his eyes lit up with the high of reminiscing on the experience. “You don’t. You have to trip the alarm.”

“What the hell? How does that even work?” Bucky asked, confused.

“When the alarm goes off, it alerts response teams to a specific location – say, the third floor balcony door or the basement window,” Clint explained. “All security will then localize themselves to that area of the building. You’ve got free reign of the rest of it!” he finished.

Bucky pondered this. “What happens when they realize the trigger was a trick?”

Clint clapped his hands together. “It’ll take ‘em a while, sure, but they’ll figure it out. We did a couple test runs, found out it takes an average of sixteen minutes. So that’s how long you have, more or less, to get what you came for and get the hell out.”

“This sounds like kind of a sketchy plan, no offense,” Bucky said doubtfully. “Are you sure? I can’t send these guys in there on a ‘maybe’, Clint. They’re too important to me.”

Clint scooched his chair onto Bucky’s side of the table. “Hey, listen,” he said softly. “I get it. When we did our op, the kingpin sent in my brother, Barney. And I was in charge of all technicalities.” He smacked his palm on the table. “Those numbers are sound, brother. I swear. I wouldn’t send my own flesh and blood in on some shitty intel.”

Bucky nodded. “I believe you. Thanks for the advice,” he said, standing to clear his tray.

“When’re you running this?” Clint asked. 

“Tomorrow night, ‘sfar as I know,” Bucky responded, scraping his leftovers into the trash can.

“Hope it works out for y’all and everything,” Clint called, making the O.K. symbol with his hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way or nothin’, but I hope I never see you back here again.”

Bucky laughed and gave Clint a thumbs-up. “See you on the other side,” he said, before leaving the cafeteria and heading back to his cell.

++++++++++

“You sure you got it all?” Bucky asked again, twisting the cord of the phone nervously around his fingers. 

“Yeah, Buck, I’m sure,” Steve responded, cradling Natasha’s receiver between his chin and his shoulder. “This is gonna go fine.”

Bucky sighed and leaned up against the phone booth’s wall. “I know, I know, I just don’t want anything to happen to either of you two,” he admitted.

Steve smiled. “Nothing will, Buck. Promise. We’re gonna get you out, okay?” 

“Okay,” Bucky said, this time with a little more certainty. “You workin’ tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ll find you at some point,” Steve replied, and Bucky could hear the grin in his voice.

“Good. Pepper and I have an appointment at three, so ‘slong as it’s before then.”

“Yeah, definitely. Bucky, I gotta go, Natasha’s yellin’ at me about something,” Steve said suddenly, and Bucky could hear a high pitched whine in the background. 

“Take care of yerself, punk,” Bucky chastised, and Steve laughed.

“Always, jerk,” he responded. Buck heard a click a moment later, and he placed the phone back in the dock. 

Steve hung up and turned to Natasha. “What is it?” he said, voice strained. 

She pursed her lips at him. “Where’re the gloves?” she asked. Steve rolled his eyes and pointed to the gray bag on the counter. 

“Right where you packed them, Nat,” he said. 

“I knew that,” she said, lifting her chin. “Just wanted to make sure you did, too. I’m not used to doing heists with amateurs.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “I’m doing my best, okay?”

Natasha smiled and waved her hand dismissively. “Just teasin’, Rogers. Least you recognize the chain of command,” she said sweetly.

“Alright, Tasha, let’s just get this show on the road,” he grumbled, following as she skipped gleefully out the door, her black ski cap only partially obscuring her bright red curls.

They made it to HYDRA’s main facility a little after midnight, and watched the front door for twenty minutes more just to make sure there was no unexpected movement.

“The archives room in on the fifth floor, west end of the hallway, next to the bathrooms,” Natasha outlined, tracing one perfectly manicured fingernail along the floorplan they had printed out of the building. “So I say we trigger the alarm here, at the east handicapped entrance, so we have the most time to find the records.”

Steve shrugged. “Whatever you say – you’re the expert.”

Natasha smiled. “I’ve trained you well, young grasshopper,” she noted, before replacing the folders and zipping up the backpack. “It’s go time, Steve. I’ll trip the alarm. Once you hear it go off, wait a few minutes, and then head in. Don’t forget to start the timer.” She adjusted the strap of her bag. “I’ll meet you over there when I’m finished. Stay on task, and leave everything exactly as you found it. I’ve already set all the security cameras to loop during our time frame, so don’t worry about that.”

Steve smiled unsteadily, but exited the car anyway. As they were walking towards the building, he reached over and squeezed Natasha’s hand. “Thanks, Nat. This means a lot.”

She patted his arm. “No problem. Now get in there and save your man.”

++++++++++

Steve stood near the west entrance to the building, pacing in front of the door. When he finally heard the siren wail, he picked the lock quickly and easily before heading up the flights of stairs.

He had memorized the floor plan ahead of time, so it felt like he had been there a million times before when he finally found the door to the archive room. It was locked as well, but nothing more difficult than he had already done.

The room smelled musty, as if it hadn’t been opened in years. There were dozens of filing cabinets packed into the small space, each covered with a generous layer of dust.

They must’ve started going electronic, Steve decided, before checking his watch and setting to the task at hand. 

He located the cabinet that appeared to hold all records from the time of Bucky’s employment. The file seemed to be organized alphabetically by subject’s name, so he pulled open the B drawer and flipped through until he found the right one.

Bucky’s file was nearly an inch thick, and filled with documents, photos, medical records, and release forms. Steve combed through it quickly, trying to find anything of value.

Near the middle of the stack, Steve came across a few blue pages, covered in graphs and scribbly handwriting. He held them under his phone for light, and gasped at what he saw.

The graphs were timetables. One axis had the names of different agents, along with their height and weight. The other axis spelled out different names of different drugs.

Steve typed a few into his phone, confirming his suspicions. They were all forms of tranquilizers, memory agents, or other mental anesthetics. By crossing the bodyguard’s name with a certain drug, Steve could see on which day they were given it, and how much. The time was also noted, and it was consistent for every subject: 8:15 a.m.

Steve continued searching the folder. He found some pink pages, upon which were written the names and contact information of high-profile people. A dark red slash crossed ominously through several names.

The final page in the folder was a simple, faded piece of notebook paper. The notes on it were written in fine, delicate cursive, almost medical in appearance. Steve held it closer to his face, trying to read. 

 

From the desk of Mr. Alexander Pierce   
December 12th, 2013  
Subject: James Barnes

Subject was given 0.5mL of zepahedrine, and 0.14mL of chloroprax upon arrival. Subject lost consciousness around 0900 hours, and was directed to mission control. After briefing and training, handlers escorted the subject to The Grand Hotel ballroom, located at 1738 Clarkson Rd in upper Manhattan. Subject was assigned to Dr. and Mrs. Howard and Maria Stark for the duration of the evening, and directed to return them home after the party. Subject remained at this location until 2300 hours, and then proceeded to transport the Starks to their home. As instructed to, when the subject came to the bridge over Olive St, he crashed the vehicle. Subject retrieved the .9mm Glock pistol stowed in the glovebox, and terminated the mission. Instead of reporting to base as instructed, though, subject appeared to gain lucidity. Subject was found wandering the outer highway some hours later by policemen, covered in blood and with no recollection of the events that took place. Subject was placed under arrest, and trial will proceed accordingly. As the subject is no longer of use to HYRDA Facilities, the subject’s file is marked as a liability and the employment of the subject is terminated. 

 

Steve almost dropped the file folder, his hands were shaking so hard. Bucky was right. They had been brainwashing their employees, drugging them into being the perfect soldiers and forcing them to eliminate high-profile targets.

Steve slammed the folder shut with a soft whoosh and checked his watch – six minutes. Where was Natasha?

He heard a soft thud, the grating of metal, and then saw a shock of red curls as Natasha descended from the vent. “Things got a bit tricky out there,” she explained, dusting off her knees. She jerked her chin towards the file in Steve’s hands. “Got what you came for?” she asked.

Steve nodded. “Let’s go,” he instructed, and they slipped noiselessly out into the hallway. The trek back to the car was uneventful, and they peeled out of the parking lot by the light of the moon.

“Nat, Bucky was right,” Steve blurted as soon as they hit the highway. “HYDRA’s up to some bad shit. They made him do all these things, and he can’t even remember them -”   
“Calm down, Steve, shh,” Natasha soothed, her hand on his knee. “It’s okay. We can pin ‘em for it now, though, right?”

Steve exhaled shakily. “Yeah. We’re gonna nail the bastards,” he declared, gripping the folder tighter. 

“You’ve got to get it to Pepper by tomorrow, but you have to make sure that no one can trace how she got it,” Natasha reminded him. “If it comes out in court that the information was obtained through illegal means…it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. It won’t go through.”

Steve nodded. “I know, I know. I was, uh, just gonna…leave it on her doorstep?”

Natasha laughed heartily and smiled. “You’re almost a full-blown spy at this point, Stevie. I’m so proud.”

Steve laughed with her, and sat back in his seat to enjoy the rest of the ride back.

+++++++++++

Bucky sat at the table, bouncing his knee up and down, causing the chains on his ankles to rattle. Pepper was going to be here any moment, and it would be then that Bucky would know his fate.

“Hi James, nice to see you,” Pepper said, entering the room. She nodded at the security guard, and he left them alone while she opened her briefcase.

“Heya, Pep. Got anything good for me this week?” he asked as evenly as possible.

“In fact, I do,” she said, sounding a little surprised. “I received this file last night,” she showed him, setting the manila folder on the table. “It looks to be straight from HYRDRA, the company you told me you worked for. And Bucky,” Pepper said, smiling sadly at him. “You were right. About everything.”

Bucky exhaled a sigh of relief. It’s going to be okay, he thought. I’m going to get out of here. 

“So what’re we gonna do?” he asked anxiously, folding his hands on the table. “Show it to the judge next week? Rub it in Dr. Rumlow’s face?”

Pepper laughed, and covered Bucky’s hands with her own. “Well, first, I’m going to find my own psychiatrist, to give you a full evaluation. I’ll show him the files, and see what he says.” She patted his hands and returned to flipping through the papers. “His name is Dr. Bruce Banner. Very nice, I’m sure you’ll like him.”

“I don’t really care, honestly, as long as believes me,” Bucky said quietly. Pepper shot him a sympathetic look. 

“I’m so sorry, James. You just have to understand how crazy it all sounded, and I -”

“Don’t worry about it, Pepper. I know you were just trying to help,” he assured her. “I ain’t mad. You’re helpin’ me now, right? You’re gonna get me out of here?”

Pepper nodded firmly. “We’re going to get you out of here. And we’re going to take HYDRA down with us.” 

The pair talked for a while longer, discussing the intricacies of the upcoming trial and the finer points of Bucky’s psychological evaluation. They parted on good terms, Pepper wrapping Bucky in a tight hug. 

“We’re gonna do this, James. I promise,” she said, squeezing his shoulder once before walking off down the hallway. 

Bucky sat in the meeting room for a while longer, smiling to himself. This is it, he thought excitedly. Just a few more days, and then I’m out, and I can see Steve, and I can –

Steve. Bucky stood suddenly, making motions to the guard to take him back to his cell. He hadn’t seen Steve yet this morning, and he needed to thank him for what he’d done the night before. 

As the guard escorted him back, he saw Steve patrolling the rec room. He caught his eye, inclining his head towards his cell, and Steve nodded. He laid back on his bunk while he waited, and was startled from an almost-sleep when Steve knocked on the doorframe.

“How’d it go?” he asked, barely containing his smile. 

“Steve, you are amazing,” Bucky breathed, sitting up. “Pepper got the files, she told me they’ll help me in court, she’s gonna get me a new doctor…” He shook his head in disbelief. “Stevie, they believe me. They’re gonna get me out of here.”

Steve crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “I’m so happy for you, Buck,” he said sincerely. “You seem much happier, too.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Bucky snorted. “Yesterday I was sure that I was going to die in less than a month. Now, I could be sitting in Times Square eating frozen yogurt by Thanksgiving.”

Steve laughed. “So you’re gonna move back to Brooklyn? After this is all over?”

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah, I think so. I mean it’s my home, y’know? And I just want to get far away from this place,” he added, shuddering.

Steve nodded. “I, uh, I’ve got a place up there. Nothin’ fancy, but it’s got air conditioning and a queen-sized bed,” he winked.

Bucky looked at him slyly. “Why, Steven, are you inviting me to come live with you?”

Steve blushed and looked down. “I mean, if you’ll have me.”

Bucky grinned wide. “Goddamn, I want to kiss you right now,” he murmured, and Steve blushed even darker.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he asked, and Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“’Course it is, punk. How could I say no?” he teased.

“Jerk,” Steve countered. “When’s the trial?”

“Soon,” Bucky answered. “My eval with Dr. Banner is tomorrow, and if that goes well, I could be released immediately following the trial. Assuming that goes in my favor, too,” he said nervously.

“Hey,” Steve said softly, and Bucky looked up. “It’s gonna go perfectly, okay? You’re gonna be exonerated, the court can work on taking HYDRA apart, and who knows, maybe they’ll give you a little something for your troubles.”

Bucky laughed. “Damn right, they better! Though it’s gonna take more than a few dollars to make up for the years they kept me in this hell hole.”

Steve pursed his lips into a fake pout. “Aw, Buck, it wasn’t all bad. You met me, ‘member?”

Bucky pretended to consider this. “Yeah, s’pose so,” he smirked. “Can’t forget about that.”

A voice sounded over the loudspeaker, interrupting the rest of their banter. “Ah, shit, I gotta go, Buck,” Steve said, mumbling something into his radio. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked hesitantly.

“Got nowhere else to be,” Bucky said lazily, leaning back in his bed. “Yet,” he added.

++++++++++

Bucky took one last look in the mirror, fiddling nervously with his ponytail. Pepper stepped up behind him and adjusted his collar. “Time to go, James. You’re gonna be fine,” she whispered, before escorting him out to the car, making sure to open the door for him since he was still in cuffs.

They pulled up at the courthouse, and Bucky took a few deep breaths. They were led inside by a pair of security guards, and Bucky took his seat at the big oak table in front of the judge. Pepper pulled him into a one-armed hug before as they stood for the judge. “We got this,” she reminded him, and Bucky stared straight ahead at the man who would be deciding his fate.

++++++++++

“Mr. Barnes, Mr. Barnes, is it true that you were held against your will by HYDRA Facilities for years?” asked one reporter, shoving his microphone into Bucky’s face.

“James!” called another. “Care to comment on the recent discovery that HYDRA Facilities has been secretly drugging their employees?”

“How was your experience in prison?” a journalist demanded to know, pushing past the others on the courthouse steps until she was almost in Bucky’s face. “Do you have any plans to seek reparations from the state for their wrongdoings?”

Bucky stopped, and looked at the sea of microphones and notepads in front of him. “Yes, it’s true, I worked for HYDRA for a number of years. I was drugged by them many times, and that resulted in the loss of many of my memories. My experience in prison,” he said, turning to the bossy reporter, “was uneventful. I have no plans to sue the state; I’m content with the cool $1.4 million I have already received,” he smirking, enjoying the surprised gasp of his audience. 

“Mr. Barnes, Mr. Barnes!” they continued to call as Bucky extracted himself and walked toward the car waiting for him. He rubbed his wrists absentmindedly, enjoying the freedom of being uncuffed. He paused for a moment, looking out at the downtown scene unfolding before him. And something caught his eye.

“Steve?” he asked incredulously, nearly sprinting down the concrete steps to meet him by the street. “What’re you doing here?”

“My best guy just got released from prison,” he said, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and holding him tightly to his chest. “He got his life back. Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Bucky sighed contentedly, leaning into Steve’s embrace. He pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. 

“Does that offer of a roommate still stand?” he asked tentatively. 

“I dunno, does the new millionaire still want to come live in my shitty Brooklyn apartment?” he asked teasingly.

Bucky grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he insisted, before grabbing Steve’s face with both hands and pulling him in for a long overdue kiss.

++++++++++

EPILOGUE

++++++++++

“Bucky, c’mon, we’re gonna be late!” Steve called, standing impatiently by the door. “You know how Natasha gets when we’re late.”

Bucky came out of the bedroom, one sock on his foot and his shirt still unbuttoned. “I ain’t ready yet, Stevie,” he whined. “I can’t find my elf hat.”

“What do you need the hat for?” Steve asked. “Forget the hat!”

“But Steve, it’s a Christmas party!” Bucky reeled. “I need my elf hat to show my holiday spirit!”

“You can show your holiday spirit by outdrinking Natasha in the egg nog competition,” Steve reminded him. “I have no idea where your hat is. And we don’t have time to find it.”

“C’mon, babe, just help me look for five minutes while I finish getting dressed!” Bucky bargained, giving Steve his best puppy dog eyes.

Steve sighed in defeat. “Alright. Five minutes only,” he conceded, giving Bucky a quick peck on the lips. “Go get ready!”

When Bucky came out of the bathroom ten minutes later, he found Steve standing by the island in the kitchen. He was holding the elf hat, but he was holding something else, too.

“Buck, what’s this?” he asked quietly, holding out the small box. There was a shiny silver band, nestled in the blue velvet.

“Oh. That,” Bucky said lamely, cheeks burning. “Where’d ya get it?”

“It was in the bottom drawer of our dresser, underneath your hat,” Steve told him. “What is it?”

Bucky huffed. “You know what it is, Rogers! Don’t make me say it!”

Steve grinned devilishly and pulled Bucky close. “Wouldn’t be any fun if I didn’t, huh?” he said in a low voice, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s jaw.

Bucky groaned, and then sagged his head against Steve’s shoulder in defeat. “It’s a ring. That I bought for you. Because I was gonna ask you to marry me,” he said quietly, hiding his face against Steve’s neck.

“Was gonna ask me?” Steve said in mock horror. “What happened to that plan?”

“Shut up,” Bucky said playfully. “I was just waitin’ for the right time to do it. Y’know, romance and shit.”

Steve laughed and let go of Bucky. “How about now? Now’s a good time,” he said, and raised his brow pointedly. Bucky sighed, and snatched the ring off of the table.

“Steve Grant Rogers,” he said slowly, biting his lip and stepping closer to Steve. “Will you do me the fantastic honor of marrying me?” he asked.

“Yes, Bucky, I will,” Steve replied, and Bucky leaned in for a heated kiss. 

“We’re really gonna be late now,” Bucky noted between kissed. Steve laughed breathily, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth.

“Do we really even need to go at all?” he asked.

“Excuse me,” Bucky reminded him, pulling back a little. “I seem to remember someone being very afraid of Natasha’s retribution if we don’t attend her annual Christmas party.”

Steve’s eyes widened in fear, and he quickly pulled away from Bucky and straightened his hair. “Shit, you’re right,” he said. He reached over and fixed Bucky’s shirt. “Do I look okay?”

Bucky gave him a once over. “Yeah, you’re good,” he said, and grabbed the bottles of wine off the counter before following Steve downstairs. They were already on the highway, halfway to Natasha’s house before Bucky smirked and said, “Nothin’ you can really do about that hickey, though.”

Steve’s mortified yelp was completely worth it, and Bucky enjoyed the glint his ring made in the sunlight as he frantically (and futilely) adjusted his collar to cover up the mark.


End file.
